Lethal Lullaby
by confusedsarcasm
Summary: cuddy falls into an inexplicable coma after a psychic visits the hospital. As house tries to save cuddy from the dangers of a permanent slumber, he ventures deep into the caged areas of her mind she never intended to reveal... full summary inside huddy
1. Comatose

**A/N**: I must be crazy to start another fic, but trust me, I'm containing myself. I actually have two or three other fics in the midst of being started (both great ideas that I absolutely love) that I'm not posting untill they get a little further into the meaty stuff. I'm proud of this idea, and I hope that it turns out the way I envision it.

This should be a mixture of the genres supernatural and romance. If you know me, its hard for me to mix those two, but I think this fic will shatter that barrier and they will blend perfectly.

I can't promise speedy updates, but maybe the more stories I have, the more options I have, and well, I won't ever get writer's block that way.

Please read, review, and enjoy like always! Let me know what you think, and I'll try my best to continue updating all my stories!

**Summary**: Cuddy falls into an inexplicable coma after a psychic visits the hospital. As House tries to save her from the dangers of a permanent slumber, he ventures deep into the caged areas of Cuddy's mind she never intended to reveal. Can House save her before it's too late, or will he perish with her, locked inside the relentless walls of the very mind that is holding her hostage? [Huddy]

**Disclaimer**: insert unnecessary generic disclaimer here (set in effect for all future chapters): I do not own any rights to House, M.D. or its characters. They are the property of David Shore and FOX. I am making absolutely no money or profit from this whatsoever.

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Prologue

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The human mind is a powerful thing. It holds and protects our memories and past experiences like a protective mother to her child. It cradles everything we hold dear. Everything we look back to for comfort and support when we feel there is nothing positive in this world and everything we hate and despise in intense moments of passion and anger. It contains everything we dread. Everything we try to hide.

We attempt to protect ourselves from the devastating truths of our lives, but most of all, we fabricate a protective barrier around ourselves to shield our secrets from others.

There is no one person who speaks everything on their mind; no one person who openly broadcasts their darkest secrets or even most innocently embarrassing thoughts to the world. In this way we are most protected in our minds. But if that vault was ever to be penetrated and our mind became victim to the scrutiny of the world we become more vulnerable than ever imaginable.

This vault to our thoughts and feelings; memories and experiences; motivations and desires, is not as safe as we wish. The subconscious mind betrays us every day, every moment, every time we are given a chance to act or react. Not to be confused with habits, our subconscious forces us to act without our knowledge or consent.

Given certain circumstances one will react in a certain manner reminiscent of what has been molded into their subconscious mind. Most actions occur without conscious thought, nearly stripping us of our free will altogether. If our subconscious controls our actions as skillfully as that we do not notice it, secrets become that much harder to conceal.

The most powerful display of our subconscious mind resides within our dreams. Within our nightmares. It reveals our desires and fears in a sequence of codes and masked meanings. It stretches the barrier of reality until its breaking point. In a nightmare you might find yourself falling from a cliff. This is obviously not realistic, so why do we constantly awaken the precise moment before we hit ground?

What if we were unable to awaken and return from the constraints of our mind? What would it mean for our fate if we were trapped in a nightmare? What would happen if we couldn't wake up? If we allowed ourselves to finally hit the ground?

Your mind is the only entity to completely understand you even more so than yourself. It belongs to you and you alone, but it is a bitter-sweet placement of power; merely a false sense of superiority for the verity that you can not contain or control it. Quite oppositely, it controls the reigns that have been strung around you from birth to death—reigns that act as ropes to keep you from your own freedom comprised of the very experiences and memories you try so desperately to ignore; to hide.

Your only hope is to continue to put on an act; no one will notice your innocent façade amongst the sea of imposters protecting themselves in the same approach.

The only fact we can take solace in is our blatant inability to enter the mind of another human being.

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Chapter One

-----

"Two Jews walk into a hospital." House started as Cuddy and Wilson approached him at the nurses' station near the clinic.

He received two looks throwing brown and blue daggers at him, but continued despite his two friends' disapproval.

"They both become doctors and one of them decides to run the facility." Cuddy and Wilson simultaneously rolled their eyes. "Hey, it's only funny because it's true." House narrowed his eyes at the pair. "Why are you both here anyway?"

"I was just on my way to see a patient." Wilson explained and continued walking in his predetermined path to one of the empty exam rooms, leaving only Cuddy with House.

Cuddy extended a chart to House, who looked at it, but refused to accept it. "A psychic walks into a clinic," said Cuddy, turning House's joke on him.

House finished her statement for her, "and then leaves because he already knows what's wrong with him."

"_She_," corrected Cuddy, "is complaining of an inability to stay awake."

House's facial expression remained neutral, "drowsiness? Just tell her to get some sleep; she'll be better by sunrise," he offered offhandedly.

House reached behind himself and pulled a red lollipop from a bowl on the nurses' station counter. He turned back toward Cuddy and narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he took in her appearance. "You have bags under your eyes," he stated pointedly, "how long were you up last night?" he inquired, using the newly acquired lollipop to point at her accusingly.

"Apparently she doesn't want to sleep," explained Cuddy, ignoring House's scrutiny, "she can't stay awake but she claims that she can't fall asleep either."

House unraveled the wax paper from the lollipop and threw the wrapper on the floor, earning himself a glare from Cuddy.

"Well then admit her to the hospital, put her in a room and make her watch CSPAN for a few minutes." Cuddy rolled her eyes once again at House. "And if that doesn't work, then why don't you go in and start talking to her; I'm getting weaker by the second."

Cuddy's patience began to wear thin, so she got to the point. "She can't fall asleep because if she does she is convinced that she'll never wake up."

Cuddy knew she had him hooked as his eyes narrowed. Cuddy extended the file to him again and he reluctantly took it with his free hand.

"She's waiting in exam room two." Cuddy turned to leave, hiding a victorious smirk, and took the red lollipop from House's hand as she left, gathering a sigh from House as she popped the sucker into her mouth and walked away.

-----

"Alright, so you're a psycho." House entered the room and closed the door behind him, taking a seat on a stool as he flipped through the patient's file without looking up at the actual patient.

"Psychic," the patient corrected, surprisingly not too offended at the comment.

House looked up from the file to meet eyes with the self-acclaimed psychic. "I know," said House shortly, "one of perks of this here file-thingy. I was just being presumptuous."

She was an old woman with graying, long red hair and fair skin. Besides having the longest hair of any woman over sixty he had ever seen, she appeared relatively normal—almost like a grandmother, but with heavily darkened crow's feet under her light, hazel eyes.

"And if that's true then you shouldn't need me to diagnose you." House declared.

"I don't," the woman confirmed, confident she knew exactly what was wrong with her.

House's eyes narrowed slightly as he stood from his stool. "I'm glad we're on the same page then because I have things to do."

He reached for the door knob but her voice stopped him from leaving. "No you don't."

House smirked and turned around to face the so called 'psychic'. "Oh this should be fun," he began, "please enlighten me."

"You're simply going to go back to your office and play your guitar or bother your friend."

House smiled, "not bad," he looked towards his fingers on his left hand, "I've obviously been playing guitar, and that last comment was so generic it could apply to anyone in this hospital."

House was not easily impressed. Observation and deduction was his forte; he could read any person like an open book and solve mysteries based on the slightest clues or seemingly insignificant pieces of information. This woman was an amateur at best.

"I'm not here to impress you doctor," clarified the woman, "I just need a prescription to keep me awake."

"You have the opposite of insomnia; therefore you want me to give you the opposite of a sleeping pill." House clarified the woman's odd request with intrigue.

"Exactly. Do you have anything like that?" She asked hopefully.

"Well, not legally..." House shrugged and began writing something down on something the woman could not see.

The woman's face fell at the information. "Please doctor, I need this..." House ripped a piece of paper off of a small pad and gave it to the woman.

"Adderall?"

"It's prescribed to patients with ADHD; while they use it, others abuse it." The woman seemed confused. "Go to any college dorm and you'll be able to score some just fine."

House stood up and left the room, glad to finally get away.

-----

"House!"

"Yes, mommy," House called out at Cuddy's scolding tone of voice as she burst through his office.

"How did your consult with the psychic go this morning?" Asked Cuddy in a manner that told House she already knew the answer to that question.

"I told her to stop scamming people over the telephone; she spontaneously combusted and left in a delightful puff of smoke," lied House, still sitting in his chair facing away from Cuddy and tossing his favorite red ball back and forth in his hands.

Cuddy ignored House. "Well, she's back."

House caught the ball in his right hand and turned around in his chair to face Cuddy upon hearing this new information. "There's nothing wrong with..." House's words began to slow as the curiosity returned to his blue eyes and he let his sentence trail off to start a new one. "Whoa!" he interjected louder than necessary, causing Cuddy to unconsciously flinch at his loudness. He reduced his volume to a dramatic whisper and spoke out of the corner of his mouth, "someone isn't getting their beauty sleep." Before Cuddy could respond House added, "Seriously, Cuddy, I thought you ended all those wild and crazy late night party days in college. A woman of your age should—"

Cuddy cut off House's comment, not in the mood to be interrogated. "She's in a coma."

-----

"She was found in her car. Apparently she fell asleep at the wheel." Cuddy further explained the circumstances to House as both doctors stood above the patient's bedside. "The strange thing is," Cuddy continued, "when she fell asleep she took her foot off the gas and she slowly came to a safe stop in the middle of the road—as safe as you could call that."

"She slept herself into a coma?" House seemed skeptical at the idea that this woman had fell asleep while driving, slowly careened to a safe stop and slipped into a coma for no reason at all.

"There's no history of head trauma or brain injuries, stroke, or diabetes." Cuddy paused before looking toward House. "She could have overdosed," Cuddy reasoned. "Did you fill a prescription for her?"

"For what, insanity?" At Cuddy's serious face House changed his answer. "No."

House's face mirrored Cuddy's in its seriousness as they both looked over the sleeping woman. Her breathing and heart rate were steady, but the look on her face was almost pained—not so much to assume she was having a nightmare, but more as if she were upset to be dreaming at all.

House thought back to their previous encounter in the clinic. When she had assured him she did not need his advice, but merely his medicine, she appeared to be speaking confidently—not cocky, but as if she knew something he didn't.

And now, looking down upon this woman in an unexplicable coma, House wondered not how she fell into this deep sleep, but rather why she was so persistent upon _not_ falling asleep. House didn't like that at all.

XXXXX

_The next day..._

House burst through the double doors of Cuddy's office and shot a curiously amused gaze toward his boss as her head shot up from her desk and she immediately busied herself in some files.

House's dramatic entrance became subdued as he slowly walked up to Cuddy's desk. He had a better view of Cuddy now that he was closer and almost burst out laughing once he noticed the impressions on her right cheek from resting against her jacket's sleeve for apparently a long amount of time.

"Sleeping on the job?" House accused.

"I was just..." Cuddy yawned dramatically against her will, and her posture loosened as she slouched against her desk.

"Not that I want to know, but what have you been doing late at night?" questioned House, "actually," he considered, "I do want to know. Give me all the explicit sweaty details."

"Why are you here House?" Cuddy dismised eagerly.

"You mean in your dreams?"

"Trust me, you have no place in my dreams," droned Cuddy.

"Oh, my bad," corrected House, "fantasies." He smirked ostentatiously and twirled his cane in between his skilled fingers as his striking blue eyes delved into her own.

Cuddy blamed the weak feeling in her muscels to her lack of sleep, but had to look away briefly to let the fluttering feeling in her stomache subside.

"I've been working late," admitted Cuddy.

House accepted the answer and gave one of his own. "I'm taking the case of that psychic from yesterday."

Cuddy's brow furrowed in disbelief. "There's no case, House," stated Cuddy, "she's in a coma; we admitted her to a room and hooked her up to some equipment. I put her under Dr. Tarant's care. He'll run a tox screen on her...there's nothing else we can do, but if you want a real case--"

The only sound Cuddy was rewarded with was the slamming of her office doors. Her eyes growing heavy again, she took a deep breath of cool air and shook her head in an attempt to wake herself up.

It didnt' work.

XXXXX

"The results of that tox screen, where is it?" House confronted Dr. Tarant in his office on the second floor.

"Excuse me House, but I'm a little busy here; maybe if you'd knock, I'd have some time to visit." Dr. Tarant was a tall, thin man with fashionably gelled blonde hair and brown eyes.

"The psychic," repeated House, "where are her results?"

"Did doctor Cuddy reasign her attending physician? Because otherwise her condition is confidential."

"Jeffery," began House in a dangerously cordial tone, "you--"

"--Joseph," corrected Dr. Tarant sternly.

"Yeah," agreed House, "so Joey," he continued, "you really like the burritoes the cafeteria serves on wednesdays don't you?"

Joeseph eyed House suspiciously.

"Red-headed nurse seemed to enjoy them too. Right before you enjoyed her," he stated knowingly.

"What are you getting at House?"

"So did foreign nurse, coffee girl, and doctor lazy eye."

"Have you nothing better to do than document my private life?" Dr. Tarant inquired angrily.

"Life's not so private within these walls, Heff." House continued through Tarant's protest, "What would Dr. Cuddy think of your hospital sexcapades?" asked House rhetorically as his inflection rose dangerously.

"You have no proof." He declared.

"Give me the psychic's tox screen, or I'll give Cuddy the tox screen to your special date burrito," House threatened.

Tarant's mouth dropped open and words futilely stuggled their way out.

"Either you're pathetically unsatisfying, or the hangover these women come to work with the morning after is chemically induced." House held his hand out. "I'll put money on either option," said House, "will you?"

XXXXX

"Have you seen Cuddy?" House caught Wilson in the hallway, walking at an unusually quick pace toward the emergency room.

"Come with me," demanded Wilson, his voice grave enough to silence House and have him following Wilson at arms length.

XXXXX

"What happened?" Wilson took the lead in questioning a distraught Cameron as House still remain in the dark.

"She just...I went to her office to get authorization for--that doesn't matter," Cameron cut to the chase, "she was passed out on her desk. I thought she was asleep, but when I spoke and she didn't reply I went to wake her."

At this point House knew they were referring to Cuddy. His eyes frantically searched the room for her.

Cameron continued. "She wouldn't wake up. I got her down here as quickly as possible, but..."

Cameron walked over to a closed curtain and pulled it open gently. "She's in a coma."

XXXXX

A/N: _please review! beginning is the hardest part, but now I got the ball rolling, so just let me know what you think, and it'll get better next chapter!_


	2. Times Like These

A/N: Thanks to everyone who took an interest in this story! And thanks for the reviews! This will only get better, so stick with me!

* * *

"House, it's been three days." Wilson entered House's darkened office and let the door slowly shut behind him. House was reclined in his chair behind his desk, with his feet propped up on the surface of his desk. He was apparently zoned out into a different world because he refused to make eye contact with Wilson, instead staring intently at a spot on the floor near the door; his face stern.

Wilson eyed him curiously, yet sympathetically. "Have you gone home yet?" Wilson examined the growing stubble making its way furiously down House's neck.

Wilson moved to sit across from House in a vacant chair. He took a deep breath and relaxed into the usually less than comfortable commodity. It felt good to relax for once. Ever since Cameron had drawn the curtain exposing a comatose Cuddy, things had been more somber than usual. Everyone who had any kind of connection to the hospital administrator was dragging themselves through the halls with diminished zest and enthusiasm for their jobs. Times like these, whether it be the death of a patient, or the fall of a friend or even acquaintance was like a bucket of ice water being thrown over you in your sleep—a reminder of mortality which can claim anyone it likes whenever and wherever, but the way House was taking it, Wilson knew House was drenched the most.

"Have you been sitting here the whole time?" Wilson didn't mean to sound so accusatory, but if Cuddy couldn't do it, he himself needed to take care of House.

House finally looked up from the floor. "I ran every test imaginable on the psychic, but she came out clear. I practically memorized Cuddy's medical history—"

"I'm sure she appreciates that," Wilson interrupted sarcastically, almost under his breath.

House continued anyway, "I don't know why..." his voice trailed off, not familiar with the concept of admitting defeat.

"You and I both know your diagnostic style isn't about running tests. It's about..." Wilson paused, and substituted his definition with something more recognizable to House. "If your symptom was say, warm water in a swimming pool," he began his metaphor, "most doctors would test the water for any irregularities or chemicals. Then they would interpret the weather; time of year; things like that. Then tedious as it is, they would test every person in the pool and try to match results between the water and every person, making medical school virtually worthless. But you," he stressed, "you would notice the color of the water creating the warmth, then just as easily notice the guilty look on only one face in the pool."

House regarded Wilson peculiarly. "No more metaphors for you," he warned. "I might nullify that if the psychic pees on herself."

"I'm just trying to help," defended Wilson. "You don't test patients, you run tests to try and decipher cause and effect. You observe every aspect that normally wouldn't mean anything." Wilson's voice softened. "You solve the cases no one else dares to touch because you don't treat cases like other doctors. If you start now, what chance does Cuddy have?"

Wilson could see House's demeanor weaken. "Get some rest," he offered, "go home, and come back with your team." Wilson stood up. "I know Cuddy wouldn't want any other doctor on her case. Even in a coma she has more faith in you than yourself. Which is saying a lot considering your ego."

"I don't need to go home," reasoned House, causing Wilson to sit down again. There were few times Wilson could recall when House was this vulnerable, and it was moments just like this where House would let his guard down, but only to Wilson. Despite their unconventional friendship, Wilson would always be there for House; it wasn't a question, it was a fact.

"You're the last to arrive at work and the first to leave," began Wilson, "I don't know anyone who loves being at home more than you. Unless you have a case," he considered, "then you tell your team what to do, and go home while they obtain the results." Wilson became more attentive. "What's so different now?"

When House didn't reply, Wilson answered for him. "You don't have Cuddy to mess with."

That caused House to respond. "There are three things I do at home," began House seriously. "I drink," he counted off, "I play my piano, and I try to sleep."

"Then sleep," demanded Wilson. "Please, get some sleep; if not for yourself, then for Cuddy."

"Sleep doesn't replenish me anymore so than seeing your bright face every day, Jimmy," House proclaimed sarcastically, "I just...dream," he admitted softly.

Wilson was stunned at House's sincerity. "What do you dream?" He inquired softly.

"Well that ties into the fourth thing I do at home," explained House in a suggestive manner, "it usually involves chocolate and two or three—"

Before House could finish, or Wilson could stop him, a piercing and unremitting beeping interrupted them. House looked down at his pager which he had abandoned on the corner of his desk, and stood up instantly after glancing at it.

The look on House's face was enough to have Wilson following House just as urgently out the door—not the look of surprise, frustration, or even misplaced excitement was the expression compelling Wilson to follow, but the renewal in House's eyes of the spark that belonged only to him. It was the life he radiated when something unexplainable happens; when he discovers something yet to be written in medical history; when life decides to throw a curveball and make extraordinary things happen outside the realm of possibility; when a case makes a breakthrough and for one solitary moment, his pain ceases to exist.

This was the look that solidified Wilson's faith that Cuddy had a fighting chance.

XXXXX

House and Wilson arrived to the sight of Cameron holding their psychic patient on her side as she convulsed wildly. "She seizing!" Cameron struggled to keep the patient from thrashing herself straight onto the floor of the room she had been admitted into.

The nurses finally arrived and took over containing the woman as she seized and Cameron quickly jogged over to the other side of the bed to meet with House. "Push one milligram Ativan," ordered Cameron, unnecessarily coaching her former boss, an occupational hazard of working in the ER.

House already had the needle in place as he pushed it through and stepped back.

To their surprise, the psychic patient continued to seize, seemingly more vigorously than before.

"One more," Cameron handed House another dosage, and he accepted it in his hand like a baton being passed on in a relay race.

"Her vitals," addressed Wilson from the foot of the bed.

The doctors glanced up to see her vitals plummeting dangerously.

"House!" Cameron prompted House to push to medication when he suddenly seemed to freeze in a state of deep thought.

At Cameron's insistent command, House pushed the extra dose, which procured no result.

He stepped back. The doctors waited for only a little while longer before Cameron reached into the supply drawer once more.

"No more," ordered House, staring intently at the seizing psychic. "No use wasting perfectly good meds."

Cameron turned around, "We're not wasting—"

Cameron stopped her sentence short as blood began to seep slowly from the woman's eyes. Immediately Cameron placed the syringe back in the drawer.

Shocked, the nurses released their hold on the woman, and her convulsions caused the bed the shake even harder, as blood leaked more freely from her eye sockets and mouth. "Hold her down!" asserted Cameron. "She didn't sustain any trauma in the car accident right?" clarified Cameron, falling easily back into her old routine of diagnosing patients under House's supervision.

"It was hardly an accident," ruled Wilson, remembering how the vehicle slowly careened to a safe stop without any damage whatsoever. "Did she have leukemia?" Wilson's brain automatically reverted to his cancer expertise. "It would explain the coma and bleeding," he reasoned, "even her initial fatigue."

House shook his head. "She didn't have anything," he stated surely, then added, "it wasn't fatigue, it was," he searched for the right explanation, "fear of sleep."

"Hypnophobia?" asked Wilson.

"No," asserted House without further explanation.

"Thrombocytopenia?" offered Cameron, continuing the diagnosis as the patient continued to seize wildly.

"Doesn't explain the coma," House rebuked, addressing the main symptom. "This is the first time she's displayed bleeding of any kind," House added sarcastically, "you're way out of practice; are you sure the ER is the best place for you?"

Cameron shot House a look that said 'not now' which didn't quite hit the desired mark and continued. "Vitamin K deficiency?"

House threw his hands up in a defeated manner, "Am I the only one who saw her in a _coma_?" he stressed utterly.

Above the rapid beeping bouncing of the walls and creaking sounds the bed emitted upon its shaking and pounding against the floor, Wilson spoke next. "We didn't have an explanation for the coma to begin with! How about we diagnose her after she's stable!?"

"Not going to happen," House muttered dismally as her monitors displayed the undeniable flat line and the rapid beeping morphed into one evenly sustained note.

She finally stopped seizing and fell heavily onto the bed as the nurses released their grips on her. The room was heavy with distress being sliced open by the heart monitor's penetrating tone as House called the time of death before leaving the room silently, his eyes void of hope, yet still vibrant in its own right—gleaming with the surplus of symptoms and worldly array of possible answers waiting to be uncovered.

XXXXX

"Dr. House!" A man appearing to be in his late fifties approached House as he was limping through the main lobby of the hospital. Ignoring him as if any unfamiliar voice calling his name was either a plot to shoot him or provide a nuisance of insufferable ailments no more severe than a runny nose, House continued on his way, his pace deliberately doubled.

"Dr. House, please, I need to speak to you." The man caught up to House in no time and stepped in front of him.

Understandably agitated, House attempted to deter the man. "Dr. House is in a consult right now, but you can wait for him," he looked out the main doors, "wherever you came from." He began walking, causing the short man with greying hair to sidestep out of the way.

"I know who you are Dr. House," he stated confidently.

"Another psychic?" House turned around to face the man. "We've been getting a lot of those lately." He sighed, "I'm starting to regret telling off that pest control guy." House reminisced.

"I've seen you on television," he clarified. "I'm here to see my wife Mrs. Collins," he explained himself. "She's here in a coma. It's not too late is it?"

House narrowed his eyes at the comment. "Why would you assume it's too late?"

"This..." he spoke unsteadily, "this has happened before in our family."

House silently urged him to continue.

"It's been happening for as long as our family tree extends back in time. They fall into a deep, unbreakable sleep, and..." He exhaled greatly, "they die."

House's look was scrutinizing and skeptical. "Your wife is dead," House relayed the information bluntly, carefully watching the man's resolve disintegrate. "What do mean by your family?" House pressed.

"Does it matter anymore?" The man was close to falling onto his knees.

House was weary about telling this man about Cuddy, but it intrigued him to no end, so he did so regardless.

The man looked a rare combination of dread and hope. "What's her name?" was his only question.

"Cuddy," House responded, his stomach involuntarily twisting as he uttered the syllables.

The man only continued to nod in head in short quick bobbing movements, which made him look as if he were restraining himself from dancing to an unpopular techno song.

"Do you believe in what I'm telling you, Dr. House?" the man asked simply, yet with heavy undertones that suggested Cuddy's life depended on House's answer.

House paused for a microsecond before replying honestly. "No."

"What do you believe?" he continued.

House's brow furrowed, "I believe it makes no difference in my life whether I answer that question or not."

"But it changes how you handle your death."

House was becoming restless. He never enjoyed the religious conversations unless he was yelling at a patient; telling them how stupid they were as he fought for their life. "It won't matter because I'll be dead," he said strongly.

The man nodded again. "Fair enough," he said, surprising House slightly with his answer. "Does this Cuddy woman make any difference in the way you live your life?"

House's comfort level dropped so rapidly with that question, it felt as if the man before him had locked him in a chokehold with his words. He watched the man's eyes evaluate him, and for another rare moment in his life he couldn't find his control. The man apparently sensed this and spared House from answering, already convinced of the answer.

"You want to believe in something, don't you?" he asked rhetorically now, having a feel of what House was thinking and feeling, and somehow knowing he would do anything for this woman. If not for her, for his own knowledge and experience—the experience of discovering something no one else knew of; his own empowering secret.

"Are you willing to save her?" he asked for affirmation, this time expecting an answer.

"Of course," House answered sincerely, shocking himself in his openness to this man. Was it Cuddy's life hanging in the balance that weakened his cold front, or did the mystery enveloping this hospital cloud his mind more profoundly than would allow him to control his thoughts?

"I must warn you," began the man, "most people who attempt this act never return."

What act, wondered House. Curiosity getting the better of him, he followed the man to Cuddy's room. If this man wasn't a psychic, then why was House following him to Cuddy's room? He knew something House didn't, and it pulled at House's nerves as if they were being strung like a violin. House did not like being played, and he certainly did not enjoy being left in the dark about any subject—medical or otherwise; especially concerning the life of a patient. Of Cuddy.

Before he knew it, they were in Cuddy's room—a place House hadn't visited yet, unless he were looking in from the window, too busy trying to solve the mystery holding Cuddy hostage. Apparently this man had it unraveled easily as a yo-yo.

The man observed Cuddy before turning to House, again nodding his head as if his neck were controlled by wire springs. "This hasn't been done in over three hundred years," he clarified, taking a seat next to Cuddy's bed. To anyone who didn't know Cuddy, she appeared at peace; relaxed. But to House, she was obviously distressed; unmoving, but as if she were struggling to break free from whatever was controlling her.

The man's voice intruded on House's thoughts. "That is because they rarely come back."

"Why do you keep saying 'come back'?" asked House, "come back from what?"

The man closed his eyes, seemingly growing tired. "From inside her mind."

House shook his head amusedly. He found it easy at times to get inside her head; he knew her well enough to mess with her; understand her habits; bother her about what really rubbed her the wrong way; make her smile—never from joy, but from amusement at his antics, only sometimes of course. She was his mystery. He understood her, but could never figure her out clearly enough to ... House shook his head of his thoughts. Their relationship was complicated. As it was currently, it would always remain. That realization both comforted House while at the same time troubled him. The only certainty keeping him sane was the fact she would always be there with him in life. He consistently avoided thoughts of retirement, wishing for more time with her, but knew now, if she were dead...

"How," House asked shortly.

"It is too much to explain," He said, "I will take care of that and you will save her. I know not what transpires within, but your only objective is to find her and bring her back before it is too late. Be quick about it, and don't become distracted," he warned. "Never allow yourself to be tricked. I believe you know this woman well enough to make your way through easily." He breathed in and out loudly. "I want to save her," he stated, "and I know you do too, probably much greater than I."

He stood and retrieved a cot from the closet. He set it up and gestured toward it. House automatically lie down, abandoning his cane on the vacant chair to his right. House was more than ready. If this man was promising what House imagined he was, there was nothing that would stop him from entering Cuddy's mind. Always having been the two most intriguing things to House, the human brain and the woman occupying a good part of his, he was excited to say the least. This would be the most outstanding case of his life. He would do anything to solve a case. He would do _anything_ for Lisa Cuddy.

"I only have one question," the man concluded. "Are you willing to die for her?"

House closed his eyes as he felt himself growing drowsy once the man placed his hands on each side of House's head. He could only mouth an answer, too exhausted to move or speak.

Anything.


	3. Cerebral Flux

A/N: I know it's short, but I'm writing more as you're reading this. Trust me, it will get more **intense**. I have some amazing ideas for this that I don't want to ruin for you, so instead I'll just write quicker. Thanks for reading, thanks for the reviews, and please enjoy!

XXXXX

His breathing was the only sound he could concentrate on as he awoke, the bright light dominating his vision too much a distraction for him to focus. As the lights became clearer and less intimidating, more familiar sounds registered in his memory—an even, steady beeping from somewhere beside him, and the hushed murmur of low voices that blended to form a sort of distorted lullaby. He was still lying down, he realized, and stood up, feeling a gentle tug at various points on his body as small objects were ripped off of him, now dangling uselessly behind him.

The noises continued and House could now decipher the proverbial sounds of rushed footsteps atop tile or linoleum floors. He looked all around him, turning unsteadily in a jagged three-sixty rotation. He was all alone in what appeared to be the current emergency room of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Recognizing this, his surroundings became crystal clear, and the indefinite edges of reality sharpened to pinpoint precision.

Overpowering the bewildering fact that the ER was completely empty, yet bountiful of the sounds and feeling of activity, House was overwhelmed with disappointment and anger. This wasn't where he wanted to wake up. Whether or not the graying man deceived him, House was hopelessly lost—noticing the absence of any doors in their usual positions, and helplessly alone.

"Stop thinking," ordered a voice from behind House.

House turned to an empty room.

"I can't take you there by my will alone." The voice registered again from behind.

House turned again, and was met by the sight of the short, grey haired man—the psychic's husband.

"Where am I?" House asked, hints of frustration in his voice. "I know Cuddy lives in the hospital, but this is just pathetic," he added his usual sarcasm in an attempt to maintain some stability of the norm.

"I've done all I can," he announced, "what you're seeing now, is what you want to see."

"This isn't what I want," declared House, "this isn't where I want to be."

"But it's what you believe," he affirmed ardently.

The ground shook unsteadily under them, but House was the only one to stumble from the loss of balance. Like a contagion following the form of an ocean's wave, the ground rose and fell, morphing from pristine white tile to a coarse, dry, desert like barrenness. Amidst the roaring sounds of crushed ceramic and crumbling rocks, the hospital's equipment disintegrated into a mass of brown dust, which linger lightly in the air, clouding House's vision.

"Abandon your insecure beliefs about life and let the threads of reality unravel for once," the man's voice was heard from overhead now, and House had no reason to search for him through the floating dust and pebbles, cutting off his vision like a heavy blanket had been tossed over him. "I know you're curious," the man qualified, "but this isn't a test to determine what is possible," he explained, "it is the only way to get her back."

Shielding his eyes with both arms, House attempted to take a step forward, uncertain of where he was going or why, but the reminder of Cuddy—the main reason for his bizarre expedition, sparked his actions and reignited his will to press on. With each step, the earth beneath him shattered until there was nothing to stand on behind him. He continued to move forward, digging his cane into the cracks between each mound of earth to create a source of strength to keep him stable against the growing winds. Taking flight with the wind, his cane sifted like sand through his fingertips before a rush of air pulled him downward, making him feel weightless as he ascended rapidly downward, seeing nothing but black.

XXXXX

This waking up not knowing anything of your surroundings was getting old, thought House as he regained consciousness, despite having no recollection of loosing it, standing upright this time. He found a strange solace in the fact that it was definitely not _his_ mind creating the scene now surrounding him. Unless the man had drugged him and sent him on a one-way flight to Hawaii, then he had reached his destination.

He was on a beach so realistic he could feel the sun bathing his skin in a revitalizing warmth, and was certain if not for his sneakers, he could feel the softness of the sand caress his feet and melt pleasantly in between his toes. Usually he hated sand with a passion, for his cane sunk and stuck in the accumulation of microscopic minerals to the point where he was left almost immobile. But now he advanced forward with ease, feeling strong and full of life, never noticing his cane had not made the journey with him.

The waves of the ocean created a relaxing symphony as they rhythmically soared over the vast space via the wind and crashed down time and time again, each movement as sure as the next, faithfully and eternally.

Far ahead of him he could see one lone piece of furniture resting peculiarly atop the sand. As he closed the distance, the image became recognizable. It was Cuddy's old desk from medical school.

"Cuddy!" House called out for Cuddy, but received no answer.

From behind the desk, a human figure had appeared and begun waving at House, gesticulating for him to approach the desk.

Breaking into a jog, House made his way over quickly, his heartbeat rising as his eyes took in the sight of Cuddy standing businesslike behind the desk.

"Cuddy," House began to speak, but couldn't uncover the right words to explain her condition. Instead, he reached out to grasp her arm, and watched defeated as his fingers passed through her form easily. His heart dropped to his shoes as he met the pseudo Cuddy eye to eye. It was her eyes, but not her, he knew. "Where are you?" House asked softly, speaking both to himself, the Cuddy clone, and the sky above despite knowing the answer himself, or even what _above_ was. If he was in her mind, then north wasn't north, nor south, west, or east; there was no up or down; no in, and likewise, no out. The thought shook him with an unfamiliar fear down to his very core. He hoped he would find Cuddy, and hoped even more she would know the means of getting back to the real world, back to the hospital, back home.

"Who are you looking for Mr. House?" The Cuddy impersonator addressed House by name, surprising him.

"You—uh, Lisa Cuddy." He stumbled at first, but clarified his request. He had no reason not to answer her. Nothing to lose, everything to gain, but if he ran out of time...everything to lose.

As Cuddy's figure searched from her database in a laptop which had not been on the desk previously, House wondered why this woman...or whatever it was, was in the form of Cuddy. As he was thinking this, she looked up with a raised brow and before House's very eyes, she transformed from Cuddy into a flawless replication of House himself. Having seen his share of unexplainable phenomenon recently, House could only furrow his brow in speculation, unquestioning.

"Is this better?" House's gruff voice invaded his own ears.

House said nothing as his double continued working in the computer.

It spoke once more, "I'm sorry sir, but Lisa Cuddy is not registered in our database." House hung his head in defeat—not complete defeat, but realization that this would be more difficult than anticipated. "If you would like to take a look around for her, then you are more than welcome." House's form opened a drawer from the desk and pulled out an unfashionable, thick metal bracelet. "Just be sure to wear this at all times so we are alert of your whereabouts." Obediently, House retrieved the device and snapped it onto his left wrist. Before House could question the method of transporting himself from place to place, a single door emerged from under the sand.

"Thank you for visiting Spatium Relaxare," House watched as his own face conformed into a genuinely friendly smile, and narrowed his eyes in disbelief. At House's look, the woman now man spoke once more. "You're new here aren't you," he stated more than asked. "I'll turn on the signs for you then. Have a great day!" With those words, he disappeared as easily as he had appeared in the first place.

Above House a sign float squarely in the air. It read 'Spatium Relaxare', the title noticeable to House as Latin. House chuckled softly and shook his head amusedly. It was so like Cuddy to be this unnecessarily organized, even in her mind. Breaking into a run again, both for means of saving precious, limited time, and simply enjoying the feeling of long suppressed endorphins, House headed for the newly erected door.

His own mind raced with wonder—wonder of what he would find in the deeper recesses of Cuddy's mind, wonder of where he would find her; what her condition would be; how she would handle the knowledge of him running freely in her mind; wonder of if and how they will return home once reunited.

He avoided the thought of dying here, not finding her in time, or being lost forever in a place he didn't completely understand, but as he opened the wooden door revealing a buffet of knowledge concerning the one woman who would no doubtedly do anything to hide her most personable, valuable, buried, repressed, revealing secrets from him, he smiled.

Life and death be damned, he was going to have fun here.

XXXXX

A/N: (clarification) The first break was the transition House was experiencing as his own cognizant mind was being transferred out of his body and into Cuddy's mind. The second break _was_ technically a part of Cuddy's mind, but not any of the 'good stuff'. He was communicating with one of Cuddy's alter egos (the highly organized, administrative, business type Cuddy) in what was sort of a waiting room or passageway into where House needs to venture. You will see many more of these personas as the story plays out. Plus lots more juicy things! Oh, this is gonna get good! :D


	4. Conversations

**A/N**: sorry, my computer was acting up again. i start school again next week and have a lot on my plate, so i'll try my best to update again. Thanks sooo sososo so much for all the great reviews!

**Disclaimer**: the quotes I used (italics) are the original work of the writers of House, M.D., which I own no part of.

* * *

He closed the door behind him stepping into a darkened room, the lack of light making it difficult to distinguish his new surroundings. Off in the distance about thirteen feet away, a single light illuminated a corner, revealing the back of a fashionably large, Victorian styled arm chair. House looked behind him, noticing the door he had entered through had vanished, eliminating the option of turning back—not that the thought had ever even entered his mind in the first place. Eager to explore, House continued forward slowly, apprehensive, but not frightened of what he would find.

Floating seamlessly in the air as the last sign had done, the one House now read hanging above his head displayed in finely crafted letters, _tongēre__ analyticus_. House thought only briefly of what it meant, knowing instinctively the latter word in the term was near enough to the word 'analytical' to be certain of its entire meaning.

As he approached the chair, he faintly noticed the worldly array of books, dictionaries, and encyclopedias of every variety lining the tall walls, providing justification of what sector of Cuddy's mind he had wandered into. It was the logical side of Cuddy, House determined. The part of her which drove her success in school all the way from elementary to medical school.

"Cuddy," House called out softly, but his voice bounced off the walls deafeningly loud, echoing in his ears like a bass drum had been struck with all the force of an unstoppable semi-truck.

The chair rotated despite its lack of wheels, revealing another Cuddy, deeply engrossed in a thick book of some persuasion. She looked up at House, not displaying emotion of any type and spoke. "How did you get in here?" she asked, voice full of wonder.

Not knowing the answer to that himself, House replied, "You fell into a coma," he began, "and instead of waiting for you to die, I decided to come in and wake you up." He added with enthusiasm, "I couldn't let you die—you owe me money!"

Cuddy narrowed her eyes. "That doesn't explain anything," Cuddy argued, needing more than anything to find an answer to this improbable occurrence.

House began to look around in search of another door or portal of some manner to take him elsewhere. He knew this wasn't the real Cuddy and needed to hurry if he was going to find her. Besides, this Cuddy was too boring to spend anymore time around; it's not like he would discover anything he didn't already know with her.

In the midst of scanning the dark area, his own voice invaded his ears. He looked to Cuddy only to find it was still _her_, and her lips were unmoving. The voice—_his_ voice, was coming from every corner of the room.

_Cuddy, you see the world as it is, and you see the world as it could be. _

House narrowed his eyes, remembering the precise moment where he said those exact words to Cuddy in her office.

His words resonated within the dark walls loudly.

_What you don't see is what everybody else sees: the giant, gaping chasm in between._

This was not only the logical side of Cuddy, House now realized. It was the logical side of her which hindered her from making any progression in her social life. The logical side of her which she valued and nurtured so much which had directed her views to see only what is and what could be.

Cuddy's voice now replaced House's from above.

_House, I'm not naive. I realize—  
If you did, you never would have hired me. You're not happy unless things are just right. Which means two things: you're a good boss, and you'll never be happy._

House looked to the stoic Cuddy, who again had her head enveloped in the book, as if the words which had just reigned in from all around them were muted in her ears. Suddenly, House's desire to leave was replaced with a different motive.

"Are you happy?" House asked, gaining Cuddy's slight attention once more.

"Happiness is subjective," Cuddy replied dully, still casting her eyes onto the book in her lap.

"So are most of the books you have in here," he argued.

Without speaking, Cuddy's voice once again entered the room.

_How is it that you always assume you're right?_

House attempted to ignore it and continued with his interrogation, letting out an inaudible sigh. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

She deserved so much more than she had, House contemplated. Of course she deserved the highest position in her career, but she also deserved the family he knew she wanted, but never worked toward with half the effort she exerted into her career. He spoke again more harshly, knowing she wouldn't care—her logical side was lacking the emotions usually limiting their conversations from truthful answers. If he ever had a chance at a serious conversation with Cuddy, it was now. "Who are you trying to impress? Did daddy not believe in you as a child? Did you make a pact with your third grade boyfriend that you would both become doctors? Are you trying to show up the popular girl who made your life hell in high school?" House ran off a list of possibilities, not sparing her from any of his acerbic bite, and waited for her own explanation.

Instead of getting an answer from her, his own voice answered Cuddy's previous question.

_I don't, I just find it hard to operate on the opposite assumption. And why are you so afraid of making a mistake?  
_

_Because I'm a doctor. Because when we make mistakes people die._

House was still glaring a hole into Cuddy's head, waiting for his answer, but she didn't respond, as if the answer in her voice from above was all the explanation he needed. Was her whole life centered on not making mistakes? The only way to not make mistakes was to not take chances; unlike himself, Cuddy wasn't known for her unstable decision making skills, allowing her to succeed in her career, but not in her private life.

At her closed off body language, House knew he wouldn't get any more answers from her. He recognized the look in her eyes that takes residence in his own from time to time. He knew all too well that she was living in her own mind now, trying to make a clear connection between what she was reading and what one encounters in the real world. She would refuse to engage in any conversation with him unless it was a strictly erudite topic.

"How do I get out?" wondered House, not bothering to ask the occupied woman now behind him. He was grazing the bookshelves for anything out of the ordinary. Frustrated, House turned around. "If you know everything then—"

She was gone; nothing left save for the book she was studying earlier resting placidly atop the single armchair. House approached it, eager to move on and hopefully advance one step closer toward finding the woman whom he was appreciating more and more. Opening the book, he quickly discovered an endless arrangement of blank pages. House's brow furrowed incredulously, but before he had an opportunity to fathom the meaning of the absurdity, a continuum of bright lights—green, white, purple, blue, flashed directly upward from the bareness of the open spread.

House took a breath before swiping his hand experimentally through the artificial aurora, and after finding it harmless, inserted his entire hand, then arm into the invisible barrier, watching the effect as the lights reflected brighter, and the base extended wider, allowing House to step completely into the portal, temporarily blinded by the lights.

XXXXX

House allowed his eyes time to adjust and clear of the florescent spots plaguing his vision as he stumbled into a room much more ... cozy than the previous.

The walls were furnished with warm colored wallpaper, which held shelves of personal portraits of the years past, present, family, and friends. In the center of the room was a crib, colored sweetly with yellow ducks, and as of now, empty.

In the distance a fireplace crackled joyously under a sign reading, _persōnālis nūtrītūra_.

_So many people. So much energy and drama just trying to find someone who's almost never the right person anyway. It just..shouldn't be so hard_.

"Cuddy?" The all familiar name escaped his lips longingly.

A response came, once again from above. Not quite above, determined House, as the term above meant nothing to him here. The voices resonated from everywhere all at once, as if Cuddy's memories were being played from a tape-recorder by an omnipresent observer in the control room to Cuddy's brain. Maybe that's where she was...

_It's a good thing you failed at becoming a mom because you suck at it!_

Those were irrefutably his words. His jaw clenched and he lowed his head in shame, feeling regret gnaw away at his very core, not only because he spoke with such brazen derision, but because it had made such a lasting impression on her. His own memory of the hurt expression on her face was all too clear in his mind, and he hated it that he had put it there, or more so forced it there.

The room became translucent and wavered meticulously like a heat wave. The furniture faded away temporarily as the space before him became a space for a 3D reproduction of the very scene. Again, he saw the life in her eyes fade as his words escaped his lips, but then saw his own self from Cuddy's point of view, eyes full of malice; face set in stone as he broke another piece of her spirit away.

House was speechless. He had never imagined he could look that way toward a woman he... cared so much for. House swallowed the lump in his throat and willed away the image. As the room returned to normal, the crib reappeared occupied this time by a baby. Cuddy was standing protectively over the child, staring lovingly into the safe structure.

House's verbal attack continued.

_Actually, your eyes tell us nothing, 'cause we're looking at your boobs--Which tell us that you're desperate to have someone jump on you and tell you they love you, one grunted syllable at a time. What you want, you run away from. What you need, you don't have a clue. What you've accomplished makes you proud. But you're still miserable._

She looked at him. "Greg," her voice was soft and tender, welcoming him to this new space.

House didn't know how to respond.

_Pay attention to me!_

It was Cuddy's voice.

_Sorry, that would make it harder to ignore you. _

This dialogue was quite insightful. Cuddy's maternal nature could be seen in the way she ran her hospital—her baby; and of course, her other baby. She was too damn self-sacrificing sometimes. People like that are always seeking positive reinforcement and the approval of others to be happy with themselves.

House approached the cradle and stood opposite Cuddy, overlooking the child with her. Cuddy reached down to retrieve the child, but House reached down as well, placing his hand over hers, causing her to look up.

"Can I hold her?" asked House almost awkwardly.

Cuddy smiled and allowed it. "I always knew you weren't the complete socially awkward ass you make yourself out to be."

_I know this is awkward, but we need to talk.  
There's a reason that we've evolved a feeling of awkwardness. It tells us not to talk about things._

House jumped from the baby blues to Cuddy's stormy blue eyes. "I have my moments," House agreed, trying to open up Cuddy's defenses. He knew it wouldn't be difficult. The nurturing side of Cuddy was sensitive to her own emotions just as well as those of others. She would dissect House's flaws with surgical precision, hopefully revealing her own in the process. Not only flaws though—this Cuddy would also focus on the best in House, never failing to see the best in all people. Even House. It's what he knew made her different from others.

_He makes you miserable. _

Causing House to reflexively grimace, he recognized the deceiving voice of Edward Vogler. It continued to speak in a conversation House had never heard before, only residing in Cuddy's memory and Vogler's.

_Eight years he's worked here, never made a dime for you, never listened to you.... You have no idea how many times he's lied to you, undercut your authority, made you look like crap to other doctors._

House's frown remained on his face as he listened, and waited eagerly as Cuddy responded. Certainly she knew this about him, so Vogler wouldn't be delivering any shocking news, but House was anxious to hear her retort. How did she feel about the way he treated her?

_Yes, I hate him, and here I am, desperately trying to protect his job. What does that tell you?_

_  
That you don't hate him._

House kept his eyes glued on Cuddy, as if it were her who was speaking.

_  
I do not protect people I like. I protect people who are assets to this hospital._

"How do you really feel about me?" inquired House seriously.

Cuddy took the baby from House's arms and placed her back in the crib before she walked around the warm, wooden object to stand next to House. She put her hand on his shoulder and looked straight into his eyes. There was nothing to stop her from telling the truth. If all her emotions were in play her answer would be a combination of all her years with him; memories of the past, the present, all his hateful words, and rare comforting gestures.

House was silent as Cuddy answered him.

"You know how I feel about you," she answered.

_For better or for worse, you are a part of my life._

House's lips parted as an expression of wordless air escaped between them.

Cuddy continued. "I've always loved you."

House could've sworn his heart stopped beating; his chest felt heavy.

Cuddy stepped closer to the speechless House. "Through everything, my feelings have never changed. They might have alternated between several of my feelings toward you, but they never changed," she asserted.

She placed her hand on his cheek while her fingers played with the hair just behind his ear. Her touch felt so real; so affectionate.

She gave House a soft kiss on the cheek before letting her hand drop. She spoke again, quieter this time. "This has always been your choice."

House's eyes softened, his emotions interrupted by Cuddy's voice.

_You know exactly how it would go. It'd start off exciting. We'd get caught up in novelty and the hostility and the forbiddeness. _

House had never heard this conversation either. He listened intently.

_And then we'd realize that the flirty hostility is just hostility and his inability to open up is no longer exciting, it's just frustrating. And...and then it's the inevitable blowup and the recriminations and we don't talk for two months._

Now Wilson's voice.

_Yeah. Well, it certainly proves you've never thought about House that way._

House's thoughts were running in overdrive. Not only had she thought of them together, but her visualization of their relationship was less than optimistic at best.

House repositioned himself so that he was again facing Cuddy. "Is that why you wouldn't try?"

"I've tried," argued Cuddy, "I gave you chance after chance and you just... acted like you."

The room wavered once again as a scene replayed over the room in the space before them. Making her way from her office to House's, House watched on as Cuddy approached with the most sincere smile on her face. It made her glow in absolute beauty. She was always the center of his world when she smiled. If only he could provoke that reaction from her more.

House began to wonder when this had happened. He would've remembered that smile.

He watched as the point of view changed and saw himself in his office with the woman he had tried to scare Kutner with to cut him in on the online profits under his own name. The woman played with the folds of House's jacket with a playful, flirtatious smile.

House's face was panicked. He watched painfully as Cuddy's vibrant smile disintegrated and she turned around, walking briskly until she was out of sight.

The room returned to normal.

"Why were you coming to my office?" House turned to Cuddy and invaded in her personal space.

Cuddy seemed to challenge him as she stepped closer.

Cuddy's voice heightened the tension as it played a familiar conversation.

_You're still here because you have the hots for me.  
Evidenced by the fact that I'm the one that moved into your office---  
It's the biggest office and I'm not the one that destroyed---_

It was as if they were living the moment over again. A much sought after experience in House's mind. They were standing dangerously close to each other, as they had been before.

_Why are you dressed like that? Why do you try so hard to get my attention? Are you screwing with me?  
Are you screwing with me?  
Depends on your answer.  
Everybody knows this is going somewhere. I think we're supposed to kiss now._

House remembered this exact moment, for it had been burned into his memory as if Cuddy's disappointment had scorched the iron which branded the regret onto his heart.

Taking a chance he most likely wouldn't have to explain himself for later, House reached out to Cuddy.

_We already did that._

House attempted to block the memory of him grabbing her breast tactlessly.

_Seemed like the logical next step._

House pressed his lips upon hers, and sighed achingly as her tangible form became nothing but an untouchable ghost-like presence before him.

_Really? I'm an idiot for being surprised._

House mentally cursed himself as Cuddy's form fell apart into the air and disappeared completely with her words. Even here, he couldn't change the past.

House used both his hands to rub his face roughly. His only hope for her, and therefore him; his happiness; his heart, was to save her in the present. He had to find her; now more than ever.

XXXXX

**A/N**: _Latin Lesson_: **tongēre**** analyticus** (analytical thinker); **persōnālis nūtrītūra** (nurturing personality)

**A/A/N**: Next chapter House will explore two more personalities (I know you know at least one that I absolutely just have to do!) ;D then the story takes an unexpected turn... I won't spoil anything, so please review and I'll get back to you with the next chapter ASAP!


	5. Control

A/N: thanks for the encouragement everyone. this chapter is different from what i had intended. i could have gone about it so many way, but this is how it came out, so i hope you all enjoy!

XXXXX

He couldn't remember his next transition that led him into his current situation, but his newfound motivation heightened his senses as he explored the new scenery in front of him. There were high, barren mountains visually miles away from him that penetrated the endless sky above. In the distance House recognized the sound of footsteps—hundreds to thousands of them pounding the pavement on which he was standing simultaneously as they moved together with machine-like precision. The sound was harsh as if it were being made from heavy boots; as the sound became louder the vision of an army appeared from a fog to House's right.

Unflinchingly, House approached the impending army of Cuddies. As the first rank passed, House scanned for the true Cuddy, in his own mind comparing his situation to a round of 'where's Waldo'. He ran toward the back of the never-ending army as they passed him, but stopped dead in his tracks as the memorable conversations commenced once again.

_Your reputation won't last if you don't do __your job__; the clinic is part of your __job__. I want you to do your job.  
Ah, yes, but as the philosopher Jagger once said, 'You can't always get what you want.' _

He could almost discern where the voices were coming from this time. He turned his eye-line toward the mountains.

Like a scene from the lion king, or an epic tale of impossible fantasy, Cuddy's face conquered the vast skies. House slowly began advancing toward the entity, passing through the army as if they were made of dust and let Cuddy's voice lead him nearer.

_This is fun. You think of something to make me miserable, I think of something to make you miserable: it's a game! And I'm going to win, because I've got a head start. You are already miserable._

The dialogue was accompanied still by the sound of metronomic footsteps, gradually fading behind him as he walked further and further into the cloudy, endless abyss.

"Cuddy?" House's voice echoed through the stiff air and, instead of reflecting off the mountainsides, was absorbed directly into it.

"Lost?"

House turned suddenly on his heel at the intrusive voice. It wasn't helpful or kind in any interpretation. It was condescending; almost mocking.

In the now distance the army continued on, the first rank of a new group displaying a banner which read "_dux regulatus_" in sharp, clear lettering.

_Sorry. _He recognized his own response beating in from behind him._ You're in the wrong room. My name on the door, my team, my decisions.  
My building, my floor, my people! _Was Cuddy's retort.

"You must be the executive," reasoned House aloud. "The insensitive, ball-busting, hard-ass, boss lady."

He spared her no sympathy, and could tell by the gleam in her eyes that she wouldn't have wanted it any other way. This was the side of her which made their verbal brawls so tantalizing; so rewarding whether one would win or lose just for the satisfaction of participating in it. Their spoken sparing matches were always second to nothing but sex in his mind—the thought provoked an idea within him. How did she feel in her own mind? So far it seemed to excite her; the only variable left to explain was if she found this also to be the mental equivalent of foreplay.

House continued. "You know how much that turns me on," he suggested.

This new Cuddy dressed in a light brown tank top with army pants and boots stepped closer toward him, the clanking sound which resonated as she moved calling his attention for the first time to the assault rifle strapped around her back.

"How much," challenged Cuddy boldly—hands on her hips.

The difference between this Cuddy, House soon realized, and the real administrator were their boundaries. Here, in her domain, House was powerless, and there were no consequences. So would he take advantage of that fact? Or would she?

Mentally damning himself for the action, House swallowed a lump in his throat, the situation so real yet unreal at the same time. It wasn't real, but it sure as hell was playing some devilish tricks on his mind. She must have sensed this because she removed the rifle from her harness and tossed it to the ground beside her, dust floating into the air around it.

Cuddy exhaled a short puff of air almost like a patronizing laugh. "I knew you were all talk," she said. "In and out of here." She turned around.

House narrowed his eyes, not willing to be made anything other than what he knew he was by her or anyone else. He stepped closer to her, her back still turned, and pressed himself against her, leaving no vacuum of air between their bodies. His left hand found comfort on her left hip, while his other hand splayed across her stomach, tightening the connection between them. Drawing his head close to her ear, fitting perfectly along the lines of her shoulder, he whispered, "In and out is one of my favorite repetitive motions."

All the connotation was there–in his words; in the way he said it; in the way she reacted as his breath caressed the sensitive skin under her ear; in the way his body felt against hers.

He felt her body tremble as she spoke. "What do you want?"

House exhaled in a release of tension, and if the way she shivered when he did so were under any other circumstance he would have released in a completely different manner. But her question was double sided.

House paused a moment longer than necessary before he relinquished her from his grasp. What he wanted... more than anything what he wanted was to find Cuddy. His long term desires could be thought upon later, but now his priorities were cemented in stone.

"Where are you?" House asked, the question directed toward the strong woman in front of him, all the while feeling his words expand and reach out to the sky in every direction. He had no idea how much time he had left, or where else he was left to go before he reached the true Cuddy.

The current Cuddy however simply directed House with a nod of her head toward the mountains which he had formerly held an interest in. House nodded his affirmation and thanks in one gesture before wandering down the beaten path toward a clearing in the mountains.

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In Cuddy's room at the hospital, the psychic's husband continued his work, hands still occupied near the sides of House's head. A bead of sweat began to form above the first line on his forehead and he knowingly wiped it away with his arm, the action taking out much more energy than it should have as his eyelids became heavier. Another bead of sweat formed and, too tired to deter it, let it fall onto House's brow, which was already beginning to perspire on its own.

A sudden noise broke the concentrated silence of the room and the door slid open revealing from this man's perspective another doctor. His face remained neutral as he waited from the impending line of questioning. Of course, it came.

"Who are you?" was the question the doctor decided upon.

Luckily this doctor, named Wilson he learned, was an understanding, mild-mannered man, and after reviewing both of his friends vitals and stats, agreed to hear out his story. He was much less receptive than House had been, but that would have to change. He felt his head roll along the ridges of his shoulders and asked the doctor to close and lock the door.

Time was now counting down on a much faster clock.

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Sweat poured down from House's brow once he entered an immensely open cave, the air dense with hot moisture, almost like a wet sauna. The floor, walls, and ceiling were constructed from a smooth, warm colored red stone. Mesmerized by the sensation of his sweat beginning to coat his entire body, the only other sensation he could register was again their conversations.

_By the way why does everyone think that you and I had sex? Think there could be something to it?_

He cautiously proceeded until a wooden sign entered his vision from the ground, reading '_Instinctus libere'_. House smirked.

His suspicions were confirmed as he read the addendum underneath the main sign. 'No shirt, no shoes, ever'.

He removed his tennis shoes and socks and left them at the base of the sign, not because he follows the rules, but because it was unarguably hot. Removing his jacket and button-up shirt, leaving himself in only his t-shirt, he followed a seductive laugh down a narrow trail of stone, paving the way over several pools of hot, bubbling water.

_Teenage supermodel. Presented with double-vision, sudden aggressive behavior, cataplexy—_

_You had me at "teenage supermodel." _

"Greg..." House's breath became shallow and quick. He could argue it was because of the impenetrably thick air, but ruled it out as his heart beat increased. There were giggles, there were relaxed sighs, sensual sighs, and there was his name—being uttered repetitively from somewhere he was not sure. Then still, there was—

_I need you to wear your lab coat._

_I need two days of outrageous sex with someone obscenely younger than you. Like half your age._

House almost jumped as he felt a light pressure upon his shoulder. She didn't wait for him to turn around before the hand descended and was joined by another as it roamed the expanse of his chest.

"Cuddy?" It seemed dangerous to utter her name here. As if he might lose control over his vocal chords or it would spur an unwanted action within either of them, but under his careful control it came out less awkward than it could have. The beginning of her name erupted in almost a gasp while the ending faded into a breath, which was picked up effortlessly by the woman behind him and was released into the one syllable, "yes".

_Bad news... estrogen is too high.  
No matter how many people you tell otherwise, I am, and always have been, a woman. _

Her hands glided down lower, with a tenderness yet perfectly pressurized dominance only she could apply, and the control and precision of a skilled surgeon. Her smooth skin glided down in the perfect path and stopped at his pant line. Without mental hesitation, House placed his hands over hers. His body however, was protesting wildly.

_Whoa. I would do her in a minute with fudge and a cherry on top._

He turned around for the first time and forgot to breath. She was wearing a red bikini and high heels, smirking seductively at him. She began to walk in a circle around him, as if claiming him like a hungry lioness. Her fingertips traced the circumference of his body as she continued to circle him.

"Please tell me you're the one I get to take home," beseeched House. Cuddy's laugh procured a vibration which alerted House's entire body of her presence. She met him front to front now and placed both hands on his chest as she moved her face closer to his. They were sharing sweat now, sharing the stability of House's legs, sharing the heat of their bodies combined with that of the cave.

Cuddy repeated House's words and let them linger on her moist lips, "take me..."

'Take you home' House's brain screamed, but was silenced by his other workings.

As if she lacked the ability to be patient, her hands hooked behind his head and pulled him down to her; House obliged fully, taking advantage of the first authentic feeling sensation between himself and Cuddy since she fell into a coma.

Her body was wet, and now so was his. Her hands roamed in conjunction with her tongue—a taste sweet and original; enticing in every way. It captivated House to infinite ends. She rocked her body to urge House on.

He was way ahead of her. His shirt was on the floor within seconds and had his entire self engaged into the woman in front of him. She had her toned legs hooked around his frame and his hands found the perfect place under her as they offered support.

But before he could think of moving on, a voice not from his mind and not from Cuddy's resonated within him. It was the psychic's husband. "Don't get distracted," he warned.

House groaned into Cuddy's mouth and she responded with a moan of her own, making the action of putting her down even more difficult. But with a gasp for breath, he replaced his hands on her legs and heaved her off, mentally cursing every person, place, and thing he could think of.

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"I can't last much longer," the man complained to Wilson. "If these are truly your friends, I need you to warn them and get them back now," he stressed.

Wilson's facial expression said it all. This was crazy.

The man continued, not interested in wasting time explaining, therefore condensing his prospect. "I've never controlled more than two minds simultaneously, but either all three of you come back, or the two of them die."

"I'm," Wilson stumbled upon his words, "you're going to take me into Cuddy's mind?"

The man nodded. "I will try ..." his voice faded.

Taking a deep breath Wilson replicated the man's action by nodding. "Well," he decided, "he'd probably kill me if I let Cuddy die, and I'd kill myself if I let either of them go." He wasn't about to sit around and do nothing. Ridiculous as matters sounded, he would hear anything other than the news that he would never see his friends again.

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A/N: this wasn't the intense part i was talking about. that will come next chapter b/c i didn't think this part would take so long. i don't want to tell you too much, but the next chapter will not be so much like these past ones...and wilson will be taking on more than he expected. my creative place is so happy right now :D please review and i'll write more asap! i don't know about you, but i can't wait! :D


	6. Re:Connecting

A/N: instead of writing in breaks to say what's going on in the hospital room with the psychic woman's husband, I'll just remind you that as stated before, he's never controlled more than two minds at once. I'll just say he's struggling and that's why...well that's why this story now progresses as follows (especially on Wilson's behalf). Everything else about this story you can analyze on your own, unless you have any questions, then I'll be glad to clarify. Thanks for all the support and interest again (sorry I've been really busy) please enjoy this next chapter!

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Cuddy's hospital room was heavy with tension—quiet but stiff the air moved laboriously slow; the widowed husband had his eyes closed in concentration as he now had one hand hovering over House's head, both subjects sweating, and one hand directly on Wilson's, trying to maintain control over the man as best he could. Although closed, he had both eyes on Cuddy's form, breathing rhythmically as it had been for the past couple of minutes. It was a narrow amount of time in reality opposed to the feeling hours coming and fading away in no particular hurry, but now, minutes were all they might have left. Under the whitening palm, Wilson's eyes began to twitch.

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It didn't seem long after he had closed his eyes that they were opening again. Wilson looked around him in wonder and a natural sense of caution. His hair was pushed away from his face by a soft breeze coming from seemingly nowhere yet everywhere at the same time. It was soft; gentle enough to invoke just the right amount of sentiment for it to be labeled relaxing. It was also warm, and now... with another gust of breeze, Wilson closed his eyes. Under the stress of a life or death situation, the caress of this calm element soothed him. It was as if a goddess were pursing her lips and gifting him with a heavenly flourish of revitalizing breath. But with it this time came another feeling. Not sentiment, but sediment.

He opened his eyes. He was on a beach.

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As quickly as House put her down, she disappeared. Much like his manhood, he mused, turning and continuing down the stoned path ahead of him. It seemed at this pace he would never find Cuddy, and wondered briefly if he were closer to dying than he hoped to be. If this were the case, he would gladly turn back and end his days the best way imaginable.

A thought flashed through his mind of Cuddy's smile and he pushed it aside, now frowning. He hated himself because she was his only weakness. If anyone were to know this, well...he would deny it to the end of his days, all the while holding her by his side.

Now fueled by a revigorated sense of urgency, House began to sprint, not noticing the blurring feminine figures all around him or the muffled giggles which sent chills down his spine as he passed through the cave through eyes of tunnel vision. He continued running until he couldn't feel his feet; his heartbeat encompassed his entire body down to his knees in a profound declaration of life with each blood and body warming pump. His surroundings became an indefinite blur, yet he continued to run toward the center of a spiraling vortex ahead of him. He was no longer sweating as if the inconceivable speed of his travel forbade liquid to penetrate through his skin, yet his eyes burned with a dryness likened to the power of the sun. If his skin was being torn from his body now, he wouldn't have registered the sensation, nor would he have cared. He could feel her presence in every fiber of his being, and it stabilized him as she always had in reality. Looking into the whiteness growing more prominent by the second, House was spiritually exonerated of all pain he could comprehend. He was floating on shaky ground and the lack of pain—the lack of physical sensation entirely, opened a whole new unexplored world which shook his body anew with every reason he would never immobilize himself from saving the one constant in his life. The brightness pervaded his eyes to the point of intolerableness and he closed them, still sprinting on nothing but never before used hope.

Feeling nothing but admiration and another emotion which branded his heart forevermore for the dark haired woman filling the darkness of his closed eyes, House's world disappeared. With one grand boom—inaudible but earth shattering, all sounds were swept away into a universal vacuum.

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"Lisa Cuddy is still not registered in our system, but we do have confirmation on a Mr. Gregory House," verified the Cuddy behind her old medical school desk as she typed furiously at the keyboard.

Wilson waited for the whereabouts as he received his own tracking bracelet which had been passed over to him across the table and placed it on his left wrist.

The pseudo Cuddy presented her directions. "He's making his way down—"

Suddenly, Wilson noticed, Cuddy's form wavered like a bad connection in a television set, causing Wilson to step back in confusion. The disruption quickly mutated like a disease that didn't care for the customary symptom to sickness to death formula—only a prepatory sneeze before an inhumanely sudden death, and infected the entire scenery around them both. The universe as it seemed cut to black, and within the same second, as if tossed up in its absence from the pits of hell, a new scene appeared which sent shivers up and down Wilson's spine.

He reflexively lifted his feet from the ground again and again; left after right, as if passing a hot potato back and forth between each hand, believing the ground under his feet would melt through the soles of his shoes before progressing up his entire body until he was nothing but the memory of a skull upon a disfigured ground.

It made him restless.

It. Everything.

The world now surrounding him. A world obviously not derived from Cuddy's mind or any sane individual.

The walls pulsated painstakingly around him, and Wilson drew his body into himself as close as humanly possible to create the maximum distance between his self and this new hell. He wanted to close his eyes, to save himself from the disgust rising in his throat, but would die within his own imagination if he were left vulnerably blinded.

It made his skin crawl.

His breaths were shallow and reserved, unlike the omnipresence of emotion encompassing him which seemed to hiss in agony in synchronization with Wilson's now shaky breaths. The walls now literally began to close in on him—walls of human muscle fibers—scarred and debilitated, crawling with rapid tremors and the seeping of an unidentifiable puss and coated in a mucus-like membrane the consistency of a mixture between blood and sweat.

Wilson chanced a step forward, refusing to make contact with the fastest approaching wall to his left, but tightened all his muscles as a piercing crunch sounded from underneath his shoe. Bone fragments lay scattered along the floors of blood and dirt, and he nervously stepped across a miniature river of thick liquid.

Originating in Wilson's ears, a high pitched siren seemed to alert of something. It repeated itself over and over again, growing louder by the second until Wilson's legs gave way under him, colliding him with the ground.

It made him depressed.

Wilson's hands shook under him, but was too paralyzed to stand. His hands were burning from a freezingly hot essence remaining on his hands from the now powdery ground and Wilson felt like screaming. His head was throbbing from the relentless siren and he clawed at his chest to stop the beating of the walls around him. He couldn't control himself any longer. One pound of his fists against the ground, raising the powder into his vision, he became disoriented and ran head first into the disgusting, rotting flesh.

He was now lying on his back, staring through the mugginess of the blood red air that stained his eyes purple and his soul heavy. The noises were gone, but the reality was still ever present. Then the static reappeared. Once. Twice. The third time was the charm.

His anxiousness, the restlessness, the disgust, the misery and depression was being washed away by the pressurized warmth of a steaming pool of water in a much more calming environment.

A gentle hand stroked the hair lining his forehead and Wilson closed his eyes, knowing in his heart (strangely the heart he had unwillingly adopted mere seconds ago) that the hand belonged to Cuddy, and that everything would be alright.

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Was it all over?

House opened his eyes and held his breath at the sight of Cuddy's office.

Did she make it back with him? Was this really _back_?

Her office was empty, and noticing the obscurity of the edges lining his vision, he confirmed his mission was not yet over. He turned and exited the office, finding the familiar sight of the clinic greeting him. With a short glance to his left, the streets of Princeton were empty, but present, and House's heart beat in anticipation.

Something was different. Cuddy wasn't greeting him immediately in this 'room', there were no voices showering down on him, no tourist like sign to declare his setting, and things were too precise to be unreal...Cuddy would be able to replicate this scene of her own control...he knew she was here. She had to be.

He called her name out for what he hoped would be the last time.

It echoed throughout the empty hospital and captured no response.

He tried again. "Cuddy!"

After a beat of silence, he collected a reaction.

It was different—not laced with boredom, kindness, power, or sensuality, but a combination of that and everything else. The revelation put a spring in his step and he drew himself nearer to her voice.

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Wilson opened his eyes with a jolt of his body that seemed to shock him with a new life—his life. He turned his head and was both surprised and relieved to see Cuddy stroking his face with a smile. He sat up straighter.

"Cuddy!" He was obviously excited. "Where's House?"

She smirked devilishly and straddled his lap, the only thing between them being the water of the sauna like cave.

Wilson's resolve faded and he gazed curiously at Cuddy, feeling as if his mother might scold him and tell him his face were bound to stick that way if he continued expressing such an emotion.

"What are you doing?" he asked uncomfortably. There was no doubt she was a beautiful woman whom no man would turn down, but now; under the stress of their situation, Wilson was dumbfounded and on high alert. Something was off, and if he didn't figure it out soon, he and his friends would soon be dead. He changed his question. "Where's House?" then added, "and where is the real Cuddy?"

Cuddy leaned in, allowing her cleavage to show, and brushed her lips against his ear. She took the opportunity to whisper her reply. "There's only one intermediate between fantasy and reality..." She lowered her head and began to plant kisses down Wilson's neck and shoulders.

Wilson firmly grasped Cuddy's forearms, ceasing her ministrations. There was only one thing on his mind now, and it wasn't what she was offering.

Cuddy sighed in dissatisfaction and finished answering his question. "We are all lost," she acknowledged, "but seem to find ourselves only in our dreams..."

She began to fade away and Wilson willed her to stay. "Is that where they are?" he pleaded for help. "How can I get there?"

She was gone. Wilson's mind raced. House and Cuddy were lost...Cuddy must be dreaming, she was in a coma after all; what else was there to do?...but where would he find the dream portion of her mind?

Wilson replayed Cuddy's words. This was no doubt the fantasy...and in between here and where he needed to be in the end—the reality, was her dreams... either this is what she meant or he was way off base.

Wilson removed himself from the steaming water. If she were implying that dreams were the buffer between fantasy and reality, then his next stop, no matter where he took it, would reunite them all, and after that, they would finally be safe.

Wilson squinted his eyes to distinguish what seemed to be a brightly emanating light from a tear in the cave. A portal maybe? He advanced toward it hopefully, but stopped in his tracks as a static-like spark broke the scene in front of him. Again it inhabited the entire cave until the environment began to change completely. Wilson mentally cursed as he hurled his body toward the crack, trying to beat the disruption before it caught him in it again, but was too late.

He was half way between two worlds when he blacked out.

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"House?" Cuddy approached him with a quizzical look. She had had this dream before (it was one of those recurring ones that you didn't know were such until you were dreaming it) and never before had it involved House.

He literally ran up to her like an excited dog greeting its master, but stopped short as he seemed to regain control of his functions. He cleared his throat while unconsciously fiddling with his hands, making Cuddy take silent note of his cane-less appearance. He reeked of an awkwardness comparable to a meeting between two long lost friends who didn't know where their current relationship stood and looked pained somehow.

Cuddy squinted her eyes at the man before her. Did he want to embrace her?

Taking the initiative, partly to diffuse the tension between them with unknown origins and partly because she actually wanted to—it was nice to finally see a familiar face after being alone for so long, she wrapped her arms around the disgruntled diagnostician and surprisingly to her, felt him fall into her and hold her tighter than she had ever been before.

Usually, she would deem the moment awkward or life altering in just the same awkward way. Not because they were hugging, but because she could feel his heart beat change its pace, hear his breathing shake and skip with passion, feel his hands pushing them closer together as if he wouldn't be satisfied until they were one being, and mostly of all, because she could feel the changes inside her...the changes only he could create, and only he could shatter into a million pieces.

It was alright though. This was only a dream.

Convinced of the fact, and overwhelmed by his comforting presence combined with empathy at his unusual demeanor, she withdrew from his body only slightly to look into his eyes.

They were never this blue in her dreams... at a loss of words or even the ability to think; too many emotions rattling under their shackles, Cuddy gazed at his lips. Before her eyes could even travel fully up to his eyes once more, she was leaning in for a kiss, and was met more than half way by House.

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A/N: tbc...please review...i'd like to know what you're thinking. oh, and they're not in the clear yet if somehow you were thinking that.


	7. In Dreams Do Us Part

A/N: sorry it's been so long. I still have ideas for this, so please stick with me and enjoy this next chapter!

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He couldn't get that God-forsaken buzzing to leave his ears. It seemed to resonate from inside his ear canal, yet it echoed loudly from all around him. It was similar to a power generator but humming only gently as if it were steadily in a state of low power and incapable of being re-charged.

It seemed to weaken him.

Starting within the core reaches of his bones, he could feel them becoming brittle and soft. He was lying on his stomach and assumed a push-up position to heave himself off the ground and immediately hunched over, not able to support his own weight.

The noise held constant and with a hesitant eagerness as he attempted to inspect his surroundings. "Hello?"

The word did not even echo as it continued on away from him endlessly and disappeared.

It was nothing.

Just nothing.

The inexplicable scene invoked no greater descriptive adjective other than _nothing_ to him. It wasn't the blackness of a darkened room void of windows, nor was it the absence of black predictable of a sterile and empty surgical room, pristine white from wall to wall; floor to ceiling...

It was the sort of emptiness and nothingness one might imagine of death. When all has ended and there is nothing left to see...nothing left to feel.

This was the exact emotion overcoming him now. He couldn't care less of his exhausted body, weakened bones, empty mind, nor was he even aware of the light mechanical buzzing still penetrating what was left of his body.

He remained standing motionless, and when he could feel no need to bother his legs with the burden any longer, let them collapse. He didn't fall though. Not that he would know.

His eyes were void of life. And if by chance he had no eyes, which anything was possible here, more could be read through the empty sockets than drawn from his deep browns now.

The passion to find House; to find Cuddy, was stealthily obliterated, and the obvious desire to escape this ineffable prison was demanding, but invisible to him. Only by the grace of God, who most likely knew nothing of this place, would he escape.

If he had the will, he would have prayed.

He didn't.

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Their kiss skipped the chastity altogether and began with a long repressed passion the moment their lips met. Cuddy knew even in her dreams she had to be careful, and attempted to pull away, but was drawn into House's embrace by an invisible magnetism combined with his multi leveled enthusiasm.

House was breathing her in, their bodies connected all the way down to their ankles, and he obviously couldn't get enough.

The only thing which interrupted enough to catch Cuddy's attention; not House's—he wouldn't stop even if he were hit by a train, was a familiar and desperately harsh voice.

Wilson's voice.

"Did you hear that?" Cuddy created a minute distance between them by using her outstretched arms to push at his wildly beating chest.

House didn't respond; couldn't respond. He simply shook his head, using his increasingly brightening eyes to scan her up and down, as if judging the value of a work of art, or attempting to convince himself she were real.

Wilson's voice never repeated itself, and his memory now wiped from existence, Cuddy turned back to face House, who was still mere millimeters from her face. "What's going on?" she asked curiously.

Taking a ragged breath and distancing himself from her—only slightly, he was still paranoid she would disappear at any given moment, he began to explain their situation.

"Cuddy..."

Somehow this was harder than he had originally anticipated. He could bear the yelling, but for some reason now he wanted to end the disappointment he created for her on a daily basis. This was the ultimate invasion of privacy, and as he had recently figured out, he had disappointed her even when he wasn't intending to. There was something in the way she walked away from his office while he was in company with another woman which was burned into his memory now. The fallen look of her eyes as he denied their relationship in his empty office...all the times he knew of, learned of, and knew he didn't know of even still told him he was pulling on a thin string.

Would this be the end?

Cuddy was still waiting for an answer. House seemed too hesitant in his response. It was so unlike him that it made her nervous. Not in life or her dreams was he ever like this; did he ever look at her the way he was now. This wasn't a part of her dream--she knew it, so why was he here?

"Do you know where you are right now?"

Cuddy paused before shaking her head slightly. A soft "no" escaped through her lips.

Well, thought House, there was nothing he knew of better than jumping straight into a cold pool of water. "We are in your mind."

A billow of air came out on a short laugh as Cuddy shook her head tightly in incredulity. "This is one of the more interesting dreams I've had in a while," Cuddy speculated to herself.

"This isn't a dream, Cuddy."

House stepped into the space Cuddy had created between them and placed his hand on her shoulder for effect. "This isn't a dream," he repeated, "and I think it would be best to explain after we find a way out of here."

House lowered his hand from her shoulder to her arm and began leading her away in search of an exit--either a portal similar to any before or simply anything out of the ordinary.

"House wait," Cuddy's legs held their ground and refused to follow House, causing him to turn around. Was it by her own will that she was stopping him now, or was it...something else?

"Cuddy, we don't have much time." The urgency in House's voice was beginning to surface and he reflexively squeezed her hand.

It had to be something else, because at that look, Cuddy knew she would follow him anywhere. She had been dreaming for too long, and wanted, no , needed to wake up. There was no doubt she had tried, and when she could hardly take it any longer, House had appeared out of nowhere. She reasoned it was a sign of some sort, because although he had invaded her dreams on many accounts, he never had a place in this particular one.

The look in his eyes again sparked something deep within Cuddy and she placed the entirety of her trust in him, yet she could only shake her head in response as she pointed to something behind him. "This _is_ a dream," she asserted in a shaky voice as her hand slipped from House's.

House responded to Cuddy's change of vocal stress by narrowing his eyes in concern and confusion and turned around slowly.

He exhaled a short breath he didn't know he had been holding and found his feet glued to the ground. "What is that?" House inquired in a hushed voice, but glanced over his shoulder not to receive an answer from the woman he had been seeking for so long, but to the image of her running the opposite direction.

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A/N: reviews would be much appreciated! :)


	8. The Dark Side Pt1

A/N: thank you all for the lovely reviews :) really, my face looks just like that smiley when I read them. This next one is for you! Enjoy!

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Strangely enough, at this moment House's reflexes were working together in a peculiarly fascinating way. Being the man he is, he would assess the situation for what it was—nothing more; nothing less, and without question choose fight or flight. Most often than not he would favor the blood and sweat of an old fashioned fight due to the crippling status of his right leg which cancelled out most scenarios involved with taking the flight route, but this time his brain was forced to recalculate for odd circumstances.

Odd circumstance number one: the leg impediment was tossed out of the computation and replaced willingly with a strong, muscular, and fully functional appendage. One point for flight. Number two, the very cane which functioned for the aforementioned leg issue worked well in combat, but was now consequently for the upgraded leg, nonexistent. Two points for flight. And last, but certainly not least on any earthly scale, odd circumstance number three was currently drooling an acidic substance onto and straight through the floor.

House had to blink to confirm his eyes were working correctly. The four legged creature was something derived straight out of a horror film. But of course he knew it was instead a product of Cuddy's mind. It was an asymmetric creature. Four legs spread equally apart yes, but the front two were much longer and wider than the rear, probably to accommodate the grand expanse of its scaly grey chest and to keep it from scraping against the floor, leaving it plenty of ample room to breathe in its slow, sporadic way.

It was, in fact, completely covered in scales, yet it bore no other amphibious features to speak of other than the tail of a hormonally grown sting ray which did drag across the ground, leaving behind in its trail a plethora of grease and grime—bodily secretions which seemed to attract and kill various insects in its wake. The rest of its larger than life body resembled in his mind that of a mammal. It seemed to posses within its broad shoulders the strength of an elephant, and across its straight back, which seemed to be supported by a flexible spine, the speed and agility of an untamed, wild feline.

Its long, ragged claws stuck out at all angles and House faintly recalled diagnosing the creature with a skin condition due to its bodily scratches—possibly self inflicted due to a severe itch. Most wounds were scabbing over, and as the creature rubbed against a section of the wall, a shower of skin fell off like the bark from an old tree, creating a noise which fell into syncope with its claws rattling against the tiles.

Luckily, House couldn't see its face for it was angled away from him and to its side—doing something House was unable to see to the large glass pane window beside it, but could clearly hear.

And he could never forget about circumstance number four, for it was the true reason causing his brain to send electric signals to the rest of his body at a dangerously lethal pace: the only variable that pulled him into this position, and the subject he vowed he would do _anything_ for. Cuddy.

House's brain told him to quietly sneak away; his head told him to run as fast as possible—taking full advantage of his freshly healed leg; and his heart... he couldn't read it accurately but he knew it was devising a plan faster than his brain had the capability to. Mostly because his heart always had Cuddy deep in the pit of it.

But as much as he wished to save her, he wanted to curse her for running the most illogical direction possible. Sure it was away from danger, but it was even further away from the exit. If his hands weren't currently shaking from trepidation and nerves, he would have connected Cuddy's current dismissal of the hospital's layout to her refusal to acknowledge that this might be a dream _and_ something much deeper and pressing of a matter—a fact he tried desperately to convey to her despite her lack of acceptance. She wasn't quite herself. But the snarling of an unidentified monster species drowned out the revelation of an unusual Cuddy tenfold.

Why did she have to run further into the pits of danger? Away from safety, and away from the real world? Not only was she supposedly on a time limit, so was he!

And like that, the strangest thing happened. His heart somehow connected with his brain and body until all were on the same page. He would go to hell and back for her. He was too close now to lose her for good.

So for the first time in his history, he chose flight.

One rotation of House's sneakers against the tile floor was enough to steal the creature's attention from the window to House.

The creature rotated its massive head the exact moment House rotated his entire body, and House found himself running for his life, all the while using his eyes to scan the area for Cuddy. It was a difficult task to say the least. Within a record three strides he had cleared the entire expanse of the hospital's waiting room and nurses' station, but the foggy moist heat creating ripples of fabric against the back of his jacket told him it wasn't nearly fast enough for his legs, let alone his eyes.

Abruptly, he was flung forward with a force equivalent to a fifty mile per hour car crash and was kicking his legs against the gripping pressure at his left ankle, but was sucked as if from a high pressured air chamber sideways along the slick tile without the time to even skip a beat of his heart.

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Wilson continued to float aimlessly into and throughout the magnificently lame nothingness. He was steadily approaching his plummet through the line where fatigue meets the languidness of not being able to conjure up the energy to keeps your limbs attached to your own body when a surge of electricity splintered down his spine.

Again it coursed through his veins like lightning and his body reacted by heaving in a long slow breath of air. The rest of his current world invoked no reaction at all and remained the same while Wilson exhaled and breathed again.

His chest rose and another shock struck him still.

Three seconds.

Thunder shook him loose from the world holding him in an unconscious but wide eyed death and dropped him carelessly through the red stained air of an again completely new world. He landed on his back, knocking the breath loose from his lungs and causing him to choke on his next intake of air. Blood spewed from his throat and mouth as he gasped for air and pounded the ground he was struggling against with the force of all his body.

The thunder sounded again and Wilson finally caught his breath. He stood up quickly, eyes wide and mind in a daze, looking all around him for a clue. His lungs were filling with air and he felt himself becoming heavier as if his breaths were also filling him with life, feelings, emotions, and the soul that gave him the will to live again.

He stumbled backward and tumbled to the ground on his back. Above him the sky was blood red, with grey and purple streaked clouds.

The thunder crashed again and Wilson watched as the lighting brightened the entire sky in one blinding eruption. He pushed himself to his feet, feeling anxious yet filled with suspended energy and crooked his neck in every direction as he remembered what he was looking for.

And there it was.

Finally. Movement from a life form other than his own.

Off in the distance Wilson interpreted the jagged steps of a crippled human being. His back was turned, but the blazer, blue jeans, tennis shoes, and cane were recognizable from any angle.

Wilson broke into a sprint at the starting signal of another bout of thunder, feet tossing up dust upon a dry ground. "House!"

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House continued to struggle until a slam and accompanying darkness alerted him he was no longer in the corridor of the hospital, and the dryness and cool air greeted him with the realization he was made no one's supper.

He was about to spring to his feet, his muscles still reacting upon adrenaline, fear, and basic instinct, but was stopped by a gentle hand upon his chest.

"Cuddy!" House exclaimed.

"Shh," she warned, placing both hands on his chest in an attempt to slow his heart rate and keep him sealed to the floor. She peered out of a small crack in the wall and returned her sight to House.

House was still collecting his breath, each intake and exhalation of air louder than the cry of her name. He began feeling around wildly, still unable to slow himself down, both checking to see if he was alive and where he was. "There's," a breath, "no," another breath, "door." He felt around near the direction Cuddy had pulled him into only to find nothing but a wall. No door to be found.

"I don't know," Cuddy answered the unspoken question. "There was but it always disappears." Her voice was hushed, but well above a whisper. "Are you okay?" she lightly moved her hands from his chest to his ribcage, then to his shoulders and down his arms, checking for any injuries.

House soon took her roaming hands in his and set them aside so that he could inspect her. He didn't know why—maybe it was doctoral instinct; maybe it really was because he cared about her wellbeing more than his own. After finding everything to be just fine, House's hand went to his own face.

He quickly pulled his hand away and stood up. Following his movement, gravity took its opportunity to pull a stream of blood from his nose onto the ground in a spectacular splash of sound.

Cuddy jumped up at the sound—it was too dark to notice the blood, but the sound was undeniable. "Oh my God, House! Are you alright?" She reached out to him blindly in the dark; now that they weren't so close, it was difficult to interact with each other, and palmed him in the nose with an unintended force.

House emitted a stifled yell and Cuddy pulled back apologetically, her hand warmer from the contact. At least now she knew where the blood was coming from.

"I think you broke my nose!" House was no longer suppressing his voice. "Why did you have to pull me down so hard?!" A dull pain in his mouth urged him to check if he was missing any teeth.

Like most of their relationship, it didn't take long for Cuddy to switch from a state of concern to confrontation. "Oh I apologize; it would have been much easier to ask the nice beast to wait a minute while I escorted you to safety. He looked pretty reasonable to me."

House smirked behind a mouth of blood. "Well you're going to have to do something a lot sexier than reduce my clinic hours to make up for this," House suggested, their banter almost detracting from the fact that they were not yet clear of danger.

"In your dreams," muttered Cuddy confidently.

"Actually," House initiated a comeback as his mind flashed back to an image of a bikini-clad administrator feeling him up in a less than subtle sensual seduction "—in _your_ dreams," he asserted with a proud smirk on his face, invisible to Cuddy in the heavy darkness.

Cuddy retorted almost too quickly. "Hey, that wasn't a dream, that was—" She stopped.

"How..."

"I don't know," Cuddy beat House to the question. "I think...I saw what you were thinking...?"

House forgot to breath. If she could read his thoughts then he would be now just as vulnerable as Cuddy had been the entire time.

"What am I thinking of right now?" House insisted on testing this hypothesis to make absolutely sure.

Cuddy looked at him as if he were crazy. "I..." she tossed her hands up in the air. "I have no idea," she gave up.

"Try!" asserted House.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Uh, you're thinking..." Cuddy knew from the basic fact that she had known him for years that she could narrow her choices down to either pills, women, or some sort of alcoholic beverage. "If you want this to be accurate, you're going to have to think of something other than drugs, sex, and alcohol," enlightened Cuddy.

"I knew that," House replied haughtily; in his mind changing his word.

"Sombrero," Cuddy pulled a random word out of the air, eager to get a move on and off of this ridiculous mind reading game.

House narrowed his eyes. "Not even close!" he announced smugly.

"Great, now can we get moving? We have a raging, drooling, monster after us." She began walking without House's approval yet again.

"Where are we?" he inquired, looking down upon a long spiral set staircase illuminated faintly by various candles along the walls.

"I..." she began as if she didn't know the answer. "This is just how it happens," she decided upon, as if she were struck with an epiphany. "I've had this dream before," she explained, "except you're never in this one—"

"This one?" teased House, catching her mistake.

"Semantics!" defended Cuddy, "no interrupting." She began again. "I'm in the hospital finishing up some paper work—no one else is around," she included, "when I come out to..." she thought, "I never know the reason, but I come out of my office and that's when I see..." she stumbled on some words, "that _thing_ that was out there. When I see it, I immediately run the opposite direction, and its always afterward that I think I should have ran the other way, but I keep running anyway—right into this open closet that I know in consciousness isn't really there, but it is in my dream. Anyway, I get here, the door disappears, and without any other option I go down those stairs..." her voice slowed to a stop. "I can't remember the rest, but I know..." her voice trailed off.

Cuddy began to descend the stairs.

"Cuddy," House called her name when she stopped talking. Between her silence and the darkness he had no idea where she was.

"Follow me," ordered Cuddy, literally not able to stop and wait for the man invading her dreams.

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A/N: :) wanna know what the flip is going on? I'll be occupied with college and job stuff for a while, but I know exactly where this is going and I'm excited to write more if you're ready for it! Reviews greatly appreciated!


	9. The Dark Side Pt2

A/N: thanks for all the feedback and sorry for the delay. please continue to read and review if you're still with me. I've lost my train of thought by now, but I'm working on getting it back.

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"Cuddy," House called her name out softly for the second time. Finally she responded to his voice by stopping and turning around to face him. It was still dark, and they could only see the outlines of each others faces by the dim lights lining the walls every seven or eight feet apart.

Without another word, House took her hand in his. Although he couldn't see it, he could feel the shocked expression on her face reflected in the way her hand jolted slightly against his. "So we don't get separated," he explained shortly. He didn't add on the thought that he never wanted to be separated from her again, and contained his smile, careful still even in the dark, as her hand clamped tighter onto his.

Inexplicable as any dream, the scene was altered without warning or without paramount importance to be noticeable. It was almost like walking through a waterfall without the feel of water cascading over your hair and shoulders.

Cuddy stopped purposefully, but didn't speak. House wasn't paying attention, instead focusing on analyzing Cuddy's dreams. "You dream of that thing often?" House asked Cuddy when she stopped walking. She knew he was referring to the scaly monster who had almost obliterated House moments before, but avoided letting an answer slip from her lips. She knew the look in his eyes all too well--he would pick apart her dreams to determine some meaning. Some meaning he no right knowing. Even if he was just a figment of her imagination.

"It doesn't matter," commented Cuddy offhandedly. "It's gone now. This is different now, haven't you noticed?" She was calmer now, as if the preceding events had never happened. As if this really were still a dream and only a dream. The feeling make him lightheaded. His stomach felt empty. His insides curled. "Hey," he turned her around to face him.

He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to earnestly try and convince her this was real because he knew she still doubted it. He knew she doubted him.

Their hands were still entwined, though obviously darkness no longer plagued them in this new world. Brightness surrounded them. Enveloped them even--the kind of brightness that cast the world aglow in a way that was revealing yet cloudy all at the same time.

Time seemed to stand still, yet it was ever-present in House's mind. It had seemed he was playing this fantasy game of life for ages now. There was no telling what would happen next or when. All he knew for sure was that although he couldn't see a clock, somewhere, one was ticking away just for them. "Let's go home."

In the back of his mind House wondered when he had ever said those words with such sincerity. Sure, 'I'm going home' was a commonly used phrase with him, but never 'Let's'...never did a pluralized word escape his lips as an invitation to his own home. Apartment. Whatever. Would things really be any different? He would take her back 'home'. He would take her back to Princeton... He would surely be going home alone again...

He brushed the feeling aside, not allowing himself to become vulnerable. As far as he was concerned no one was permitted to even cast a passing glance into his mind.

XXXXX

The male psychic had fallen to his knees long ago, his hands still guiding House and Wilson through the depths of Cuddy's mind. He had gotten to know House better through their brief conversation and in House's knowledge and current understanding of the woman called Cuddy, the grey haired man was easily securing House's safety in this dangerous unnamed game.

Wilson however was another story entirely.

He turned his head toward the brown eyed doctor named Wilson with desperation and dread in his fading eyes and, after a split decision, and removing his right hand from House's forehead, he concentrated all his energy on Wilson.

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"House!"

The caned man stopped, but didn't turn around as Wilson quickly closed the distance between them.

Wilson began to reach out to touch his friend's shoulder but was struck by a sudden feeling of uncertainty and stalled, his arm still extended toward who he knew had to be House.

"House?" whispered Wilson, his voice and movements gentler; his body and nerves tighter.

House's right knee gave way under him and he fell to the ground without a sound. Balancing himself with his right hand, his cane skewed upon the ground beside him and his left hand on his right leg, he remained on the rough earth, his back arched into the ground toward his leg and away from the harsh elements all around them.

A flash of lingering lightning illuminated a glistening river of water only a few feet ahead of them, which surrounded by the pale red light of the air appeared to also be red.

As Wilson was inspecting the curious way the water failed to flow or move in any direction, and before he could register the familiarity of the tingling sensation in his nose from a pungent aroma, he was distracted by a new image. And a new sound.

Disgruntled moans coming from House's direction alerted Wilson to the stream of gray smoke billowing up from the huddled form he knew as Dr. House, the most renowned diagnostician in all of America, now a cradled image of trembling flesh and sweat.

The wave of gray smoke was traceable to House's right thigh, even though both of House's hands were barely covering the source.

"My God...House..." Wilson's voice was hushed yet panicked. He didn't know what to do.

Cautiously, Wilson approached House and keeled down next to his friend. Now, he was finally allowed a clear image of House's condition. His stubble was beyond shave-able, coarse and thick, his eyes were pale and red-rimmed, his skin was almost white, his clothes were wrinkled and tattered, and his brow along with his hairline were drenched in a sticky coat of sweat. But the real damage was apparent of his thigh.

Wilson reached out to House and slowly detached the man's shaky hands from the injured area. House allowed this with no protest other than a few searing hisses of pain.

Wilson swallowed in nervousness as he took in the sight of a sweltering piece of damaged thigh muscle. The fabric of his jeans had disintegrated over the area due to the voracious burning so that Wilson could visibly see House's muscle in the brightest shade of red he could have ever imagined, pulling from Wilson's tear ducts a moist film of water. The smoke was unmistakably a byproduct of House's burning flesh and Wilson stood up, eyes maintaining a steady burn from the brightness of the image, transforming the mundane task of blinking into a conscious effort of will.

"What is this, House?" Wilson asked, ripping his sleeve off from his shirt.

House didn't respond; he simply rolled over on the ground, tremors overtaking his entire body.

Wilson rushed over to the river and drenched the shirt sleeve, returning to House's side. "This is going to sting," he warned, bringing the cloth to House's leg, who had in this time rolled over onto his stomach, balancing himself on his hands and knees now shirtless, undoubtedly discarded for the discomfort it only added to his situation.

The instant the dripping fabric made contact with House's exposed muscle fibers, House screamed bloody murder from a set of vocal chords comparable to that of the devil's symphony. Wilson immediately recoiled and ripped his other sleeve from his shirt to wrap House's thigh.

As he did so, the sleeve ignited into flames and Wilson hurriedly flung the flaming bandage into the river. It wasn't until the flame upon the river expanded instead of relinquished itself that Wilson realized the familiar scent he had smelled before was gasoline.

In no time the flames traversed the entire expanse of the river of gasoline just as House's pain from within his thigh shook his entire body. House barely moved in response, he was too tense to shake and to shaky to lay still, making him appear trapped in a painful arena of hell a mere seven by four square feet compact.

Another flash of lightning struck dangerously close to them, demolishing bits and fragments of earth up into the air like confetti. From the same exact spot on the burnt earth which had just been struck by nature's rage, Wilson could faintly notice small pebbles making their way back up from the ground.

He stepped forward from curiosity, futilely attempting to drown out House's moans of agony behind him as he approached the circular area of the ground which was lined in a black soot possibly from the friction of the lightning strike. House tugged at Wilson's pant leg, like a dog tugging at his masters pant leg. Wilson could have sworn he let out a whimper just like one, but Wilson paid no attention. Behind Wilson's back House crawled away like a three legged dog.

The pebbles intensified above the ground, and created a small hill, growing taller and taller. Wilson knew now something was emerging from the earth below. The first crowning of a human skull was enough for Wilson to flush his curiosity and turn away, running. Running toward the crater-like hole House was throwing himself into.

"House, what's going on?"

Wilson reached his hand out to the man at the bottom of the hole, free flying dirt hindering his vision and scratching his eyes. "House, we need to get out of here!"

Footsteps from behind Wilson caused him to turn, but the forcefulness of a human arm pushed him aside.

Wilson's mouth fell agape in pure shock. He stuttered and tried to rub his eyes, only to cringe and step back in response. "St-st-stacy?"

It was her. Stacy was now kneeling at the edge of the hole staring down into at House as if watching a lion in its artificial habitat. Her form, her body, her features, everything was real; it was Stacy no doubt, but her manner was off. She exuded an air that punched Wilson in the stomach in the most unsettling way, however; her eyes and expression was blank. He imagined if she were cut, she would not bleed at all.

From behind her, emerging from the ground as she had the ghosts of House's past dragged their feet toward were Stacy knelt above House. His father...his mother... they all collected together around the hole House had dug for himself, simply staring down at him. It was then that Wilson collected himself enough to distinguish that now, the recently deceased Amber and Kutner were making their way to the crumpling edges of House's hole. Wilson stared blankly as he watched the image of himself join them, followed shortly by Cuddy.

Wilson would have called out if his fear had allowed him, if the block stuck in his throat would only go away. But it didn't. And as Wilson watched the earth crumble under the weight of House's friends and family, Wilson's mind flashed over the thought that these would be the people who showed up at House's funeral. Those who would show up to his wedding if he ever had one; the birth of his first child, his hospital stays as a patient; even a Christmas party or small social get together if he would ever have one. But here they were now. And only now. In his nightmares.

The ground supporting House's hole finally gave way and the stoic figures of House's life collapsed with the rubble, onto House's level.

The silence was daunting. Why had House finally stopped agonizing in pain?

XXXXX

"House." Cuddy stepped closer to the now somber man, a serious expression on her face, lips a neutral line, making it difficult to gauge her intentions. Why was he looking at her lips anyway? House caught her eyes and lost his breath. She continued her thought. "What home?"

House stood shell-shocked. Who's home? Well... the real world was a general answer. But was she for once implying she had no home, just like himself. A building with walls and a roof, but no happiness? Or was she genuinly confused with his phrasing?

"Out of here," he explained, grabbing her softly by both shoulders to create a connection, hoping that by some miracle she would interpret his touch to be real. He read her disbelief in her eyes. "You Are Dreaming..." House punctuated each word slowly and surely. "I am here to wake you up."

After a beat of silence, Cuddy spoke softly. "You're wrong."

Again, House expected some monster to begin chasing them, instead nothing came. How could he convince her he was real? They were real? And in real danger? She began walking away from him, as if she couldn't stop herself if she wanted to, and before House moved to follow, he felt himself grow weaker. He had followed her this far...

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A/N: This isn't what I was expecting to write when I started, but I wont remember if I wait any longer. If you're still reading let me know, and I'll try to get this back in good quality and wrap it up ASAP.


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